A Most Interesting Puzzle
by KylaRyan
Summary: Holmes' cover is blown while spying on a syringe-wielding mad scientist, and Watson has to deal with the aftermath. Warning, this probably qualifies as crack!fic....
1. Prologue

A/N: Short Introduction, sorry about that.

Prologue  
I looked up as Inspector Lestrange entered the sitting room, half-carrying Sherlock Holmes.  
"Holmes!" I cried out, leaping from my desk to inspect my friend.  
"I didn't break my promise, Watson," mumbled Holmes as Lestrange and I helped him over to the sofa. "Skully made me and injected me with one of his concoctions before I was able to fight my way free."  
"Did you hit your head?" I asked, worried by how distorted his words were becoming.  
"No," he replied, slurriedly adding, "It's what he gave me that's affecting me so, Watson."  
"Did he happen to say what it was he gave you?"  
"He referred to it as the ultimate exilir of youth," Holmes replied scathingly, stifling a yawn. "And no, I don't happen to know what he meant by that, Watson."  
Unfortunately, we found out all too soon what Doctor Ashley Skully meant by "ultimate exilir of youth"...


	2. It's Mister Holmes, Doctor

A/N: Another Short Chapter....this story seems to prefer short installments.

**Chapter One: "It's Mister Holmes, Doctor."**  
Holmes and I spent the night in our sitting room, since Lestrange still had to take Doctor Skully down to Scotland Yard and Holmes was too tall for me to move him around by myself.  
I hadn't intended to fall asleep myself, but I must have, for the next I knew, Mrs. Hudson was bent over me, gently shaking me awake.  
"What is it?" I asked, my senses still clogged by sleep.  
"It's Mister Holmes, Doctor," she replied, wisely stepping back as she spoke, for I leapt to my feet with such force that I would have struck her in the head with my own.  
And then I saw Holmes' sleeping form on the sofa...

* * *

The first thing I was aware of when I came to was the taste of brandy. The second was a child's voice, talking to me.  
"Watson, are you alright?" the child demanded as I opened my eyes to see a child-like version of my friend's face just inches away from mine.  
"Holmes, I'm fine," I grumbled, "I just fainted."  
"Oh."  
"What about you, Holmes? How are you feeling?" I asked, looking around for my medical bag as I spoke.  
"Despite having turned into a ten year old over night, fine," he admitted, handing me my bag. In response to the look I gave him, he added, "I mean it, Watson. I really do feel fine."  
"Pardon me if I don't believe you, Holmes," I informed him as I got my stethoscope out of my bag to listen to his heart and lungs.


	3. How thoughtful of them

A/N: Sharon Alice Christy, I am fully aware of that fact. I do not appreciate being critized in that manner concerning character names in such a hostile manner. I'd rather reply to your review in a less public manner, but you did not have the curtesy of signing your review so that I could do that.

**Chapter Two: "How thoughtful of them."**

As I packed up my medical bag, after I had finished examining him, Holmes demanded, "Well? Will I live?"  
"Yes, but I want to know immediately if you start feeling ill, Holmes," I commanded.  
"You worry too much," he grumbled, but in reply to the glare I gave him, he promised to tell me if he started feeling ill.  
"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" I asked him.  
"Not hungry," he predictably replied.  
"Holmes, you are now a ten year old child, you have to eat more often if you expect to keep up your strength," I rebuked him.  
"Fine, I'll eat," he surrendered, adding, "but only if you eat with me."  
"Gladly," I replied.

* * *

I don't know how Mrs. Hudson did it, but she provided Holmes with enough clothes to last him seven days, longer if he didn't change clothes every day. That alone was an impressive feat, but what was more incredible to me was that all of the clothes actually fitted Holmes.  
"Where did you get these, Mrs. Hudson?" Holmes asked, surprising both myself and our admirable landlady. Couldn't he just use his amazing powers of observation and deduction to answer his own question?  
"Well, Inspectors Lestrange and Lestrade came by earlier with Doctor Skully's notes," she explained. "And they had brought with them some clothes for you, Mister Holmes."  
"How thoughtful of them," Holmes observed drily. "Watson, I'm sure you'll want to consult Skully's notes about my condition?"  
"I set them on your desk, Doctor Watson," Mrs. Hudson remarked, turning to leave. "Also, there is a message for you, one of Mister Holmes' street arabs delivered it."


	4. I didn't mean to make a mess

A/N: I just had to make things complicated for Holmes...this is a filler chapter, sorry!

**Chapter Three: "I didn't mean to make a mess..."**

The letter turned out to be from Mycroft Holmes, requesting that I come alone to his club that evening at five to speak with him. I wrote a reply, which I then gave to Mrs. Hudson to have sent to the elder Holmes brother, before turning to Doctor Skully's notes.  
_Day One--Subject slept thru the de-aging process; when he woke up, subject was mentally still an adult.  
Day Two--Subject seems to have lost his adult mind, and is now mentally the same age as he appears to be physically, though his memory remains intact. Stacy--_  
A loud crash from Holmes' bedroom nearly gave me a heart attack, for I had not realized that Holmes had left the sitting room.  
"Watson?" The fear and pain in Holmes' voice brought me running into his room. At the sight of the additional chaos in his room, I demanded to know what had happened.  
"I tried to reach for a book on the shelf, but it was too high for me to reach from the floor, so I tried to use the chair to reach it," he explained tearfully. "I didn't mean to make a mess, please don't be mad at me."  
"I'm not mad, Holmes," I said soothingly, "I'm just worried about you."  
To my surprise, Holmes leaped out of the pile of books that had previously been on the shelf he'd pulled down and flung his arms around me in a close embrace, soaking my shirt with his sobs. It had taken less than 24 hours for Holmes to lose his sharp adult mind, to be replaced by the mind of his six-year-old self--though he was tall enough to be a ten year old, his current behavior indicated that Skully's elixir had turned my friend into a six-year-old--, much less time than it took Skully's sole human test subject, according to his notes.  
"Are you mad at me for making you worry?" Holmes asked me.  
Despite the fact that his voice muffled by my shirt, I was painfully able to hear his question. I wasn't sure whether I was mad at him, for any reason at all--nor could I understand _why_ Holmes was so concerned about whether or not I was mad at him.  
"Watson?" The fear in his voice was so tangible now that I could no longer deny its existence.  
"It's alright, Holmes," I said soothingly. "I'm not mad at you, not one bit."  
"You're lying," he immediately pointed out. "I can tell."  
"Holmes, I'm not mad at you," I clarified. Of course he would still be able to tell when I was lying...even if he wasn't fully able to tell what I was lying about.  
"But you are mad?" Holmes looked up at me, his childish grey eyes wide in curiosity.  
"Yes, I am mad," I admitted, "mad at this Ashley Skully for turning you into a child, mad at your brother for insisting that you and you alone could handle this case."  
"Are you mad at the shelf for hurting me?"  
"Are you mad at the shelf?" I asked, avoiding the question for the present.  
"Shelves aren't supposed to hurt people, Watson," Holmes replied with all the severity a six year old child could possess.  
I had to hide a smile at his words--he'd never let me live it down after the elixir wore off, if he knew that I'd found him so adorable as a child.  
"No, they aren't," I agreed. "I guess I am a bit mad at that shelf, Holmes."  
"It's alright, Watson, I'm mad at the shelf too."


	5. How is my brother?

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I was sick (still am, actually).

**Chapter Four: "Is my brother well?"**

"Holmes, I have to go out now--" I began, but before I could finish speaking, my friend interrupted me.  
"Can I come, Watson?" he asked hopefully, fixing me with a look that would melt even a heart of stone.  
But I did not know why his brother would request that I come alone--and without even telling Holmes of this meeting--, let alone request my presence.  
Fearing for my friend's safety if he accompanied me, I had to refuse Holmes' request.  
"I'm sorry, Holmes, but you can't come with me," I said sadly.  
"But Mrs. Hudson will make me take a bath and go to bed before you get back," Holmes whimpered.  
"I'll tell her that you can stay up and wait for me," I replied.  
"What about the bath?"  
"Holmes, I'll tell her that I don't recommend trying to give you a bath, but I won't make any promises about whether she'll give you one or not while I'm gone."

* * *

"Doctor Watson, is my brother well?" Mycroft Holmes demanded as soon as the door to the Strangers' Room had closed behind the doorman.  
I hesitated, unsure whether I should tell him about his brother's current predicament.  
"Doctor?" he called.  
"Holmes is...well," I said finally.  
Mycroft Holmes was not convinced, however.  
"I know that he is investigating a doctor by the name of Ashley Skully," he said. "I am also aware of what Ashley Skully's 'elixir of youth' can do. Doctor Watson, was my brother dosed with the stuff?"  
I nodded.  
Mycroft Holmes sighed.  
"The elixir's effects might very well be permament, Doctor," he remarked. "The only other human to be dosed with the elixir never reverted back."  
My mouth went dry at his words.  
"Have you read Skully's notes, Doctor?" Mycroft continued, seemingly unaware of my discomfort.  
"Not all of it," I admitted. "But there is one thing I find interesting."  
"Oh?"  
"Holmes regressed faster than Skully's test subject."  
"Skully could have be mistaken about the times, Doctor."  
"Not by an entire day," I objected.  
Further conversation was prevented by the violent return of the doorman.  
"Sorry ta interrupt yew, gentlemen, but this lad 'ere insisted tha' 'e need'd ta talk wif th' Doctor," he explained.  
"Watson!" my friend exclaimed before leaping into my lap and embracing me so tightly that I felt my ribs creaking.  
"Holmes, what are you doing here?" I demanded, once I had managed to pry his arms off of me.  
"I was worried about you," he replied, pulling a slip of paper out of a pocket and handing it to me.  
A chilling warning had been carefully written on it in black ink.  
_WE KNOW YOU ARE INVESTIGATING DOCTOR ASHLEY'S RESEARCHES. IF YOU DO NOT END YOUR INVESTIGATION IMMEDIATELY, DOCTOR WATSON'S LIFE WILL BE FORFEITTED. IF YOU DO NOT BELIEVE THAT WE ARE ABLE TO CARRY OUT OUR THREAT WHEN YOU GET THIS MESSAGE, JUST WAIT UNTIL YOUR FRIEND GETS HOME._  
"Are you alright, Watson?" Holmes demanded, his question muffled slightly, for he had pressed his face into my chest.  
"I'm fine, Holmes," I said, struggling to keep my panic hidden from him.  
"Sherlock? Is that you?" Mycroft asked, having returned from seeing the doorman out of the room.  
"Mycroft?" Holmes asked in stunned surprise, raising his head to look at his older brother, before abruptly bursting out into tears and wailing like a hungry infant.  
"Holmes, what ever is the matter?" I demanded over his shrieks.  
"I don't want to leave you!" he wailed.


End file.
